Making Magic (21 page)

“You aren’t leaving town tomorrow, are you?”

Thea stiffened. The conflicted look on her face slid into something sad and resolute.

Gregory seemed a bit too interested in her answer.

“I—No, I have some things to finish up here.”

“Think about it anyway. I can get you a copy of the playlist. We’d be glad to have you join us on any of the numbers.” Jake smiled. “You know all of ’em.”

Thea signed the slip. “I’ll think about it.”

He handed over the dulcitar in its case.

“I meant to tell you. Your logo is perfect,” she said. “For the store and the group.”

Jake grinned. That design—a string of polished musical notes emerging from a rough piece of wood to form the name of the store—was a particular source of pride.

“When are you going to hang it up?”

“I’m confused. I thought you were the sheriff around here or something,” Gregory said. “Why exactly are you working in a store?” He made the word sound distasteful.

“He was shot in the line of duty,” Thea said. “And instead of simply taking it easy, he decided to pursue his dream.”

Jake tried not to react as her chin went up like a weapon raised to defend his honor.

“He’s going to renovate this store and build a wonderful deck out over the stream so people can perform here and sell their CDs,” she went on. “The local food vendors are going to love it. I’m sure it will be the place to go for music around here between the festivals.”

Gregory looked a bit taken aback by the passion in her voice. So it seemed Thea had spent some time studying his sketches.

Jake grinned. “My personal marketing department. Good thing she works pro bono.”

That lovely face turned an interesting shade of pink as she slowly smiled and made a face at him.

Like old times.

“I hope you can at least come to our performance tomorrow. We’re on the main stage at one,” he said. “I’d like to do that Bach piece, if you’ll play.”

Gregory reacted as if someone had pinched him. “Bach?”

Both Jake and Thea turned to stare at him. “Yes, Bach,” they said, almost in unison, then burst out laughing.

Jake went over to the player. “Wait. I’ve got it cued up to play on the store system.”

“You mean you play Johann Sebastian Bach?” Gregory nodded at the dulcimer. “On that?”

“Jake plays it on that. I play the flute. It’s a sonata written for flute and harpsichord,” Thea said. “We’ve done other classical pieces too. This was just our best.”

The introductory notes of “Bach’s ‘Sonata for Flute and Harpsichord in B Minor’” filled the store. They had recorded it up at the farm long ago after a practice session. Jake remembered that day vividly. The acoustics in the basement of the old house had been perfect. Becca had sat there with her fiddle and watched them, itching to play along. He could almost see her now.

When he caught Thea’s eye, he knew she was remembering that day too. Her smile was tinged with sadness.

Gregory looked astounded.

The piece ended as Becca clapped and yelled, “
That was unbelievable!
” He turned off the recording a bit too late.

Thea smiled and nodded. “It was.”

“We surprised the festival crowd that year. I’d like to do it again,” Jake said.

Thea’s smile faded a bit. “We’ll see.”

“You were quite good,” Gregory said to Thea. “I had no idea you used to play the flute.”

“She still plays the flute,” Jake said. “And she’s not quite good. She’s
brilliant
.”

Thea’s mouth quirked. “Well Greg, I guess we better head up the mountain, since you came all this way to see where Marshall Woodruff was born and raised. Come on, Bailey girl.” She scooped up the dog.

Greg’s lips compressed to a thin line. Jake could tell he didn’t like to be called Greg, but Thea did it anyway. Probably in retaliation for being called Althea, a name she had hated as long as Jake had known her. It looked like Thea might have this guy’s number after all.

“I didn’t come for that,” Greg protested as they left. “I came to see you.”

“If you follow that bright red car of Thea’s, you won’t get lost this time,” Jake said. He waited and, sure enough, Thea looked back and stuck out her tongue.

Jake went out on the sidewalk to watch them leave. Thea pointed and Greg followed her gesture to see the BMW parked in the town parking lot. Greg pointed to a black SUV—a rental, no doubt—parked on the street.

He watched them drive off. As the sound of their engines faded, Jake heard music coming from somewhere up the street. Odd. It sounded like Thea’s song—the mountain’s song she had written for her Pops.

Jake followed the sound down the street.

Someone must have recorded it, but that wasn’t Thea playing a flute. It sounded more like someone playing a recorder or something simpler.

It seemed to be coming from inside the post office, but he knew the postmistress had gone to lunch. You could set your watch by her. The post office would be empty and locked up, except for the mail boxes.

He listened for a minute as the notes of Thea’s plaintive song drifted from the barred windows under the eaves. It wasn’t the box side, which was open all the time. It was behind the counter.

The tune cut off abruptly.

Frowning, he entered the building. The area where the post office boxes lined the walls was empty except for a trash can. The glass door into the actual post office was locked with the little clock sign showing when the postmistress would return. He listened at the door.

Nothing.

For a moment he wondered if he’d been imagining things. Then a car with an amped-up sound system went by out front, shaking the street with its bass beat, followed by the howl of a newly awakened baby coming from beyond the locked door.

Chapter Nine

Frustration. Unrelenting frustration. The kind that made Thea want to pull out her hair and howl. She looked in her rearview mirror to make sure that Greg’s SUV was still on her tail as they headed down the farm entrance road.

Why on earth would that self-absorbed, arrogant attorney suddenly get it into his head to come down here and check on her? She had never given him the slightest impression that he was anything but a business friend. They’d only ever had dinner together when their projects made work discussions over a meal convenient. She had always kept him at arm’s length, like everyone else at work, walking that line between maintaining a solid business relationship and not allowing anything close to a romantic one to develop.

But here he was. Why? What did he want? And what was all that garbage about studying her father’s background and about her being important to his life?

By now he had to have heard that she no longer worked for the company. Although her cover story of burnout and boredom with corporate law wasn’t incriminating, it wouldn’t endear her to her father. Why would Greg risk his career with Hartford to chase after her?

She shook her head. No way. Greg was a career man. That had always been clear. He loved his position at Hartford so much that he had sought out a friendship with her, knowing full well that she was Marshall Woodruff’s daughter. And she had known exactly what he was after.

But she was never going to be the ticket into the upper echelons of the corporation that he wanted. She felt a tiny bit guilty that Greg might have felt betrayed and, perhaps, abandoned when she left. He’d hitched his dreams to her nonexistent star.

She had tried to discourage him in every way she could, short of being completely obnoxious and offensive, and she had come close to trying that as well. It wasn’t her fault that he had persisted.

With the instructions she had given her father, Greg’s career at Hartford shouldn’t have been impacted by her departure. But what if her father found out Greg had chased after her? She shook her head.

And how was she going to explain him to Grace and Nick?

On the upside he would be a handy buffer to prevent those two from discussing her so-called gift or pressuring her to stay.

She pulled up in front of the house and Greg pulled in behind her. As she set Bailey down outside, Greg got out of his car and gawked at the house and the grounds.

Something was going on, because a lot of the guests from the cabins were walking toward the entrance to the public area of the sunroom—probably one of Ouida’s cooking classes.

Grace came out on the porch with Pooka at her heels. Bailey strained at her leash to try and run to the old hound. She was always trying to get the old dog to play with her. Thea needed to get Bailey some appropriate toys—the old dog’s ears, and temperament, were not going to hold out for long.

Grace looked, and walked, like she was trying to smuggle a watermelon out of a supermarket under her shirt.

Thea smiled. They had passed nine months a few days back.

“You’re going to have to let her off that leash sometime,” Grace said. “Don’t worry, she’ll come back to you.”

Thea remembered Jake saying something similar. She shook her head. “You and Jake. You think the mountain will protect her from copperheads? Or that big painter of yours?”

Greg met her at the bottom of the steps. “Why would you be afraid of a painter?”

“That’s mountain speak for panther—mountain lion.” She watched as he swallowed, trying to hide his trepidation at the idea of wild animals in the woods. Yes, a born and bred city boy.

“Actually, I do,” Grace said, smiling from the top of the steps. “And who is this?”

“Grace, this is a colleague of mine from Hartford.” Grace’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Greg Whitehead, this is my sister, Dr. Grace Woodruff McKenzie.”

Grace smiled and patted her stomach. “And this is my rather tardy daughter Lily.”

“We are on T minus 0 and holding, I think,” Thea said. “Or whatever happens when launch time arrives and nothing launches.”

Nick appeared in the doorway. Obviously, the man wasn’t letting Grace out of his sight, which made Thea fall a bit in love with him herself.

“Hey, what’s up?” Nick joined her on the porch with a couple of bowls on a tray. “You moved.”

Grace laughed. “I know. It is so rare these days.” She headed for the swing. “And this is about the only chair that I can get out of without help. Nick, this is one of Thea’s colleagues from Hartford,” she said, gesturing to Greg.

Nick, ex-DEA agent that he was, didn’t even flinch. He walked over and deposited the tray, then extended his hand to Greg. “Nick McKenzie.”

“Gregory Whitehead.”

Greg insisted on being called Gregory. It made him sound like what he longed to be—fourth-generation, Philadelphia Main Line blue blood.

“We just finished lunch,” Nick said. “Have you eaten?”

“There’s some great egg salad if you want a sandwich. Or some three-bean salad and potato salad. And fresh blueberries for dessert,” Grace said, reaching for her bowl.

“I’m fine,” Greg said.

“I grabbed something in town,” Thea picked up Bailey to cart her up the steps. She didn’t want to leave Greg alone with Grace and Nick, although she wasn’t sure who she was protecting from whom. Sitting on one of the chairs, she put Bailey in her lap.

“Ouida’s teaching a vegetarian cooking course out back today, so tonight is going to be ‘whatever is left over from the class’ night,” Nick said. “I think she is doing grilled portabella mushroom sandwiches and sweet potato fries today.”

“Sounds yummy,” Thea said.

“Are you vegetarians too?” Greg asked. “I had to work hard to find good restaurants for Thea and I because of her thing about meat.”

Thea blew out a breath. That was bound to send the wrong message about their relationship.

“Semi,” Nick said, glancing at Thea. “I’ve convinced Grace that meat, in moderation, isn’t so bad.”

“Really?” Thea was surprised.

Nick nodded. “From humane sources—farmers we know.”

“And I’ve convinced Nick that meatless Mondays are good for the planet
and
his arteries,” Grace said.

“For me the big barrier to being vegan is milkshakes,” Thea said. “
And
eggs
and
cheese. Especially Woodruff eggs and cheese.”

“We have our own chickens and goats, who are all treated like queens,” Nick explained.

“So you
do
eat chicken then?” Greg asked.

Grace shook her head. “Not ours. They have names and personalities. For us it would be like—like eating Pooka or Bailey.”

“They lay eggs for years,” Nick added. “Although their production does slow down. When they stop completely, we let them retire.”

“There are cultures in Asia where they eat dogs,” Greg said. “Even raise them as livestock.”

The look on Grace’s face showed that for a moment she thought Greg was joking. But Thea knew he wasn’t. And, from the tightening of his jaw, so did Nick. Thea hugged Bailey a bit tighter and glared at Greg.